“You need to watch him,” her warder murmured before lifting a skin of ale to her lips and taking a gulp.
Lara frowned. “Aye.”
“He’s always been an aggressive prick,” Cailean muttered.
Meanwhile, the Shee were observing their exchange keenly.
“It’s more than that these days,” Bree answered, frowning. “He’s a pot of milk about to boil over. I wouldn’t—”
“My Queen!” Ruari rushed toward the fire pit, green robes billowing. “Gregor’s gone!”
Her heart kicked. “Gone?”
“There’s no need to panic,” Roth replied, raising an eyebrow at the younger man. “Maybe he’s in the trees taking a piss.”
The seer shook his head, his angular face taut. “Then why is his horse also missing?”
7: TOGETHER, YET APART
“PERFECT WEATHER FOR the Fuath.”
Pushing a lock of wet hair out of her eyes, Lara cast Bree a quelling look. “Gods, don’t summon them.”
Her warder snorted. She rode, one hand gripping the reins, the other casually resting upon the pommel of her sword. Bree appeared relaxed, but she wasn’t.
She always had her eye out for trouble.
Lara had intended to do the same, but the day had passed in a strange blur. Just before Bree had spoken, she’d glanced up atthe sky, alarm flickering through her when she realized the afternoon was waning. It seemed only moments ago that they’d remounted after a brief noon meal and pushed on.
Where had the time gone?
Curse it. She needed to focus. After all, they’d recently formed an alliance with the Shee. Mor and her Ravens, and the restless spirit world, weren’t the only things worrying her though. Alar was. They’d entered the borderlands. He was two days’ ride away now—and then he’d decide whether they mended the rift in the veil. She hated giving him any leverage, but they needed him. How he’d enjoy that. Imagining the smirk on his face made her belly hurt.
How would she suffer his company? She dreaded journeying north with him; just the thought made her break out into a cold sweat.
And then there was Gregor’s desertion. Lara and her escort had searched the nearby pinewood for the chief-sacrificer that night. Mor and her Ravens had even joined them. But Gregor had fled into the darkness on his horse. They didn’t have the time to hunt him; they had to keep pushing forward.
Four days on, her mouth still soured whenever she thought about the sacrificer. Only the evening before, she’d found herself studying Annis, Ren, and Ruari’s faces by the fireside, and wondering if any of them were considering abandoning her.
“Luckily for us, there are no rivers or marshes close by, or I wouldn’t be so confident,” Bree went on, oblivious to her line of thought. “Even flooded fields would make me nervous these days.”
Lara glanced up at the sky. Purple clouds were boiling in from the north, promising worse weather to come. She too grew nervous when traveling in heavy rain these days. Last year’sencounter with the bog wights farther up this road still haunted her sometimes. She remembered the way the water in the marshes had started to bubble, steam lifting from its surface. Moments later, the bog wights themselves had crawled up onto the road. Even now, her pulse quickened at the memory of how close she’d come to being taken by one.
Uneasiness skated down Lara’s spine. She’d been on edge all day, but now each sense sharpened. Even the rush of the wind made her jumpy.
“At least the Slew haven’t bothered us in a while,” Bree said then, as if deliberately changing the subject.
“Aye … but that worries me too,” Lara admitted with a frown. “They never usually wait this long between attacks. What if they’re watching us … waiting for something?”
Looking ahead, her gaze rested on the backs of the Ravens who traveled in pairs behind their queen. She wished to discuss this with Mor, yet the Raven Queen had been aloof of late. Over the past days, the Shee had led the way while Lara and her escort followed. They traveled together, yet apart. Of course, the iron they carried unsettled the Shee. But there was more to it than that. Lara understood that the elks and stags were faster than horses. Nonetheless, she didn’t like that Mor had made herself the unofficial leader of this band.
She wasn’t. They were equals.
One of the riders ahead turned then. As they looked on, a Shee warrior upon a pale brown stag approached.
Wynn Sablebane’s hood had blown back, his long black hair wet and tangled in the rain.
The sight of him made Lara’s heart kick hard. Sablebane appeared no older than a Marav of forty winters, which meant he was old by Shee standards. And today, he reminded her morethan ever of his son. But there was one marked difference. Alar was good at veiling his thoughts, yet his face told a story all the same, whereas his father was impossible to read. Alar’s smile flashed through her mind then—the way his eyes crinkled at the corners and his cheek dimpled, while his gaze softened.
